Page 12 of Beautiful Exile

“You mean besides medical treatment from my eventful morning?” I asked, amusement lacing the words.

Arden’s cheeks flushed pink, andfuck,it made her look even more beautiful. I wanted to follow that blush and see what I could do to make it spread.

“You won’t sneak up on me next time,” she shot back.

My gaze flicked from her to the dog behind her and back again. “Definitely not.”

Arden didn’t look away, and our gazes locked, held. “Lincoln?—”

“Linc,” I corrected. “My friends call me Linc.”

“And me almost impaling you on my switchblade makes us besties?” she asked.

I fought the smile that wanted to stretch across my face. “We’ve definitely got a bond.” My fingers lifted to touch the tiny scab on my neck. “Cemented in blood.”

The blush disappeared from her face in a flash, her skin taking on an almost gray hue.

I muttered a curse. “Sorry. Squeamish around blood?”

“Something like that,” she muttered, taking a step back. “What do you really want, Linc? I’m working.”

The moment she uttered my nickname, I found I missed the sound of the full thing on her lips. The way her tongue caressed each syllable. I cleared my throat, trying to get a hold of myself. “I wanted to see about buying one of your pieces.”

Surprise lit in those hypnotizing eyes. “You know my art?”

“Is that really so surprising? You’ve built quite a name for yourself, and your brother won’t shut up about how talented you are. I looked up your site a while ago. Been meaning to reach out about an acquisition.”

That wasn’t the entire truth. It had started as simple curiosity and then grew into an obsession. Her artwork was like nothing I’d ever seen: haunting and captivating all at once. Looking at it felt like staring into a beautiful nightmare, but something about it made me feel seen somehow. As if she’d plucked my demons from my mind and put them on canvas or sculpted them out of metal. Even her charcoal drawings felt three-dimensional somehow.

I’d found myself bookmarking the page, checking back time after time. I’d memorized every piece of information on the site, but all it left me with was a mystery that never released its hold. The bio was purposely vague, not even giving her actual location. There was no photo of Arden. Only her art. But I was like a man starved for any morsel I could get.

It had been a jolt this morning when I realized that the womanwho held me spellbound at the gym was the same one whose art had long held me in a chokehold. Somehow, meeting her only added to the mystery.

Arden stared at me. “If you’ve seen my site, you know I sell through a gallery in town. They’re your best bet for purchasing.”

“What about a custom piece? My new house. I’d like something that fits perfectly in that space.” I was pushing and knew it, but I was greedy for even a few more seconds with her.

Annoyance flashed across Arden’s expression as she shoved my card into her jeans pocket. “The billionaire’s building yet another house. Color me shocked.”

Interesting.

I knew from my friendship with Cope that the Colsons weren’t exactly struggling. But I also had no idea what had brought Arden to live with them. Maybe she’d struggled growing up and had something against those who carelessly threw their money around.

But I knew better than anyone that money didn’t guarantee happiness. It didn’t protect you from pain or loss. Itdidcreate ease that came in handy. And I wasn’t about to apologize for that.

“Consider it my way of helping the local economy,” I said, watching as she stepped back and turned to face the canvas.

Strands of her dark brown hair were starting to spill from her bun, showing hints of the ferocity she clearly had at times. “I don’t do commissions.”

Even more interesting.

“Name your price.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Tipping my hand yet again.

Arden whirled around, her eyes flashing pure violet. “I’m not for sale.”

Oh, hell.

“I wasn’t suggesting you were.”

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